


Jim Kirk School of Diplomacy

by kungfunurse



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-09
Updated: 2017-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 21:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9259016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kungfunurse/pseuds/kungfunurse
Summary: Jim has the Enterprise, a captaincy, and Spock at his back. But is he good enough to keep from losing it all?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written just after the Star Trek 2009 movie premiered, and has since been thoroughly jossed. I'm transferring it from my LJ to preserve it as a time-capsule of writing whimsey. Enjoy!

Jim Kirk fidgeted under the too hot sun of the Rewaran day-cycle. He wore regulation ship blacks under the command gold, which, while excellent for preserving comfort and body heat in the cold of space, now seemed more like torture devices.

He smiled cheekily at the gathering of Federation officers, Rewaran dignitaries, and what seemed like half the traders from the entire damn star system, all gathered around the massive yet graceful stone fountains and pools. All trying to stay cool and sophisticated under the sweltering radiation from Re, the major sun and Wa, the minor.

All trying to get their hands on the prize.

Jim was aware that as the youngest captain here, hell, as the youngest captain in Federation history, he had everything to prove to these bastards, especially the officers from the other ships. They all knew of his victory over the Narada, losing a bare handful of crew members and saving the goddamn Earth, thank you very much, when no other had even returned with enough of their dead to bury properly.

They'd heard - and dismissed it as luck, or foolhardy bravery. The bumblings of a dangerous child given too much power and responsibility. Try to tell them it was a series of well thought out, calculated risks, taken in tandem with exceptional crew backing his play, and they slapped him down, telling him he was an arrogant pup, to sit quiet and learn from his elders. 

Jim knew that Pike had used every personal favor and inch of leeway he had with the Fleet to get Jim promoted as his replacement, just as he knew that the resentful officers who'd been passed over for command of the flagship were waiting for his first misstep, waiting to rat him out to the Admiralty and steal his ship, his beautiful Enterprise, out from under him. 

And so he smiled blindingly at everyone around him and sipped at his one fire-ale, when not so long ago he would have already gulped down two and been signaling the wait staff for another.

He didn't even try to suppress his smirk when the fourth captain of the day had approached and been shot down by the Rewaran High Priestess. She was a sort of local governor and religious leader rolled into one blue-skinned, medusa-haired package. She was also in control of the richest dilithium mines in entire sector, and everyone in the Federation was falling over themselves to make up to her, to be the one to create a new trade agreement giving Starfleet the raw material it so desperately needed to rebuild its seven lost vessels.

The Klingons were an ever-present threat. They were even more dangerous now, having lost over thirty of their own Birds Of Prey to the Narada, their psychology dictating that they must offset their obvious vulnerability by an overwhelming display of force.

And so Starfleet was delicately, oh so quietly, groveling on its knees in the hopes of getting its hands on the Rewaran's dilithium. The other traders, sensing an opportunity, petitioned to be present during the negotiations in the hopes of pushing their own wares to Starfleet, and the carnival-like atmosphere and clouds of silk, expensive perfumes, and ropes of maraatz around necks and arms gave the desperate talks a bizarre, surreal edge.

Jim grinned suddenly, a real smile, catching site of Spock strolling with a fellow Vulcan. The two of them, aside from the Rewarans themselves, the only ones actually comfortable with the heat. Spock, literally, wouldn't break a sweat from any of this, and Jim was keenly aware of how damn lucky he was to have him as his first officer. He trusted that Spock, being Spock, would not only back Jim's plays to the best of his ability, but would do everything possible to keep Jim from putting his foot too deep in any of the numerous political pitfalls that were starting to emerge.

Giving himself permission, Jim sauntered over to Spock, casually brushing their shoulders and facing away from Spock's discussion. He didn't want to interrupt Spock's quiet but obvious enjoyment of his fellow Vulcan, but he felt better, safer, with Spock at his back.

Over the months since he'd officially taken command of the Enterprise, this had become a habit between them; standing shoulder to shoulder against alien planets, Federation diplomats, and the odd bit of carnivorous wildlife that wanted to see if Kirk was as tasty as his reputation suggested. Honestly, it was only in the company of other Vulcans that Jim remembered how unusual Spock's behavior was - how odd it was for a Vulcan to allow him so casually into his personal space. The subtle frowns of confusion from the other Fleet officers made his shoulders tighten, and he stared a challenge straight at a distinguished Fleet ambassador. Captain Abu Allahama of the Federation cruiser, Gallant, grimaced back at him and turned a shoulder, muttering to his own first officer. Jim knew for a fact that Olon, Gallant's first officer, was an opportunistic gossip, and thanked Space again for Spock. Oh, he might throttle you on the bridge of the ship in front of all the crew, but at least you always knew where you stood with the man.

He felt a hard elbow to his ribs and flinched accusingly at Spock. "What? I wasn't even - ah. Noted. Thank you, Mister Spock."

Bardzma, the High Priestess' priestess in waiting - or whatever she was, secretarial assistant? Ritual hair dresser? - had separated from the Priestess' sphere and was heading towards the refreshment table, two empty glasses in hand. Something about her tickled at his intuition, and coupled with Spock's rather pointed nudge, he decided to play out a hunch. Her living, prehensile locks of hair were artfully woven with glittering webs from the t'lerma tree, the seed pods of which, when properly aged, dried to a hard, brilliant sheen that rang like sweet bells when tapped. He sauntered casually towards her.

"Hey there," he offered, slouching conversationally up against the table. "I've been meaning to tell you, Bardzma is it? I've been meaning to tell you-"

"All trade negotiations must be presented directly to her Holiness," Barzdma sniffed coolly, her blue skin shading white with irritation.

"Oh no no! I'm not - you thought I was trying to talk trade?" Jim waved his free hand, backpedaling furiously. "No, that's not it at all. You've got me all wrong." he smiled disarmingly at her, searching for any give in that steely glare. "I just wanted to tell you how much I liked your... hair. Yeah, that style, must have taken some time, huh?" 

Moron. Idiot. Are you going to drool on her shoes next? He sipped his drink to hide his grimace of self-disgust. Bardzma turned to go without another word, and he took a deep breath. Okay, round two.

"I had a good friend, back in the Academy. She liked those t'lerma shells, too."

Barzdma paused, the muscles in her bared shoulders rippling interestingly, then turned slightly back to Jim. "An unlikely story, as the t'lerma are reserved for members of the Holiness' family."

"No, scout's honor!" Jim beamed at her, turning on the charm for all he was worth. "Your hair, it really reminds me of her. Her name was Vastha, and wow, she was something." Memories ghosted across his mind, long winter afternoons wrapped up in her bunk, too cold for Vastha to enjoy being outside, but why go out when they could stay in? Him teasing her long, blue, delightfully sensitive toes, them curled up and murmuring sweet little jokes to each other.

"I used to spend hours just sitting behind her, studying my astrophys lecture while her hair would comb and wrap itself up in whatever style she liked that day. She was fun, a lot of fun. She even gave me one of her t'lerma shells when we parted ways. Told me to tap it once a year on her birthday, to remember her. She, I don't know if I've ever laughed so much with someone, you know? She was special. I still miss her, sometimes. She died at Vulcan. Like most of them did."

Jim sighed, drinking a mouthful of the fire-ale to honor fallen friends, then guiltily came back to the present with a thud. He was aware that going on about how you'd banged a girl who was, now putting it together, likely this woman's cousin or something, probably wasn't the best way to secure love and financial security with the Rewara.  

Bardzma arched an eyebrow at him - and seriously, did every race in the Federation besides the humans use that eyebrow thing as a non-verbal 'fuck-you'? - and rejoined her grand and thirsty Holiness, probably to tell her what a dick the Enterprise's newest captain was.

Glumly, Jim retreated from the field of battle, falling back to Spock's side. Safety in numbers and all that, and God could this day just end already?

"May I enquire, Captain, how your exchange with Priestess Bardzma progressed?" Spock asked quietly in his light, pleasant tenor; a voice that Jim privately thought would sound great singing Jazz Blues.

"You may, Mister Spock," Jim muttered distractedly, fencing with Spock out of habit more than anything. 

"Ah. I believe by your expression and less than satisfied tone of voice that not all went as desired."

"You could say that," Jim scowled at his empty cup.

"Do not be too harsh with yourself," Spock counseled, walking them towards the nearest shade tree. "No other has made any more progress than you. The High Priestess has likely already determined to whom she will grant the favor of her trade, and will give no more or less than she wishes."

"Spock, not all of the representatives here are from the Federation. If a non-Fed planet gets the dilithium, it not only leaves us wide open to Klingon hostilities but presents a new and dangerous threat from a previously-"

"Yes, Captain," Spock interrupted quietly, reminding Jim to keep his voice down. "I am well aware of the stakes at hand. I merely wished to assure you that your performance was not substandard in comparison to any other, this day."

"Well, hey, don't overwhelm me with praise," Jim snapped bitterly.

"In fact, I believe praise may very well be in order," Spock replied blandly, only the barest lilt in his voice to show his surprise.

"What? Spock what're you... oh hell."

"The High Priestess herself, approaches. You must have made a very good impression on Priestess Bardzma after all."

"Ah, no. Spock it's probably just the opposite," Jim hissed quickly. "Spock, you gotta get me outa here. I think this is about to get ugly."

"I am afraid it is already too late, Captain."

Jim turned back to the approaching women, smile pasted on, his shoulder leaning hard on Spock's. The pointy-eared bastard had better not abandon him, just now. Though knowing Spock, he was coolly, deliberately, thinking of ways to excuse his Captain as a wandering idiot in order to save the Federation from Jim's monumental mess-up.

"Captain Kirk," the Priestess smiled faintly, her dark blue skin and short, almost black hair showing her age. 

"Your Holiness," Spock and Jim echoed, bowing slightly, a move that Spock spent an hour on the Enterprise drilling into him, making sure that Jim wouldn't bow too low to give offense, but low enough not to imply sexual interest.

"Bardzma tells me that you knew my granddaughter," she continued, her voice like cool water, like silk over clean skin. "Tell me of this."

"Uh, your Holiness," Jim stalled, trying to marshal all his wits around him. "Vastha was, well, exuberant, I guess you'd call it, but also a pretty private person. She never really talked about her family, and I promise you I had no idea that you were related. I never would have, um-"

"Presumed to use your intimate connection to my family to force a trade agreement?" And now the voice was like hot desert rocks, cracking from the terrible burden of the twin suns and their burning, searing heat.

Oh, fuck it. Jim was done pussyfooting around. He was hot, his head hurt from the glare, and he was pissed off at being cornered like this. Nothing he said was gonna make things better anyway, so he dropped the nice-captain act and gave it to her straight. One hundred percent undiluted Jim Kirk.

"Yeah, I knew Vastha. Pretty well I'd say, for all that she never talked about you. And you know, the fact that you think I'd use her, use her memory like that, for a trade deal, well. I'm starting to understand why she never talked much about home."

Spock's elbow pressed in his ribs was going to leave bruises, and he didn't care, couldn't care less. Because now he was riding that adrenaline surge, looking for a fight, looking for some bruises and like always, he didn't much care where he got it from.

"Vastha was a genius, an engineering marvel. She loved her lab, loved what she could create. While the other cadets were busy cramming for tests, Vastha was dreaming up ways to make the beautiful, impossible things in her head a reality. I thought, maybe, just maybe I could share a little bit of that loss with someone who'd care. But I can see I was mistaken. Good day, your Holiness."

Fuming over, almost too angry to see straight, Jim bowed and tugged Spock along after him, not knowing or caring if he'd bowed correctly or obeyed any other courtesy of the hour. Damn him for a fool. Why the hell had the Fleet sent him on this mission instead of letting him explore some distant, unknown outpost on the edge of space? They should have known he'd never say the right thing, never sit still and be a model officer. Damn damn damn!

"Enterprise," he snapped into his communicator. "Two to beam up." 

"Aye, Capt'n," Scotty's voice came back immediately, and the cool, welcome energy of the Enterprise surrounded them and brought them home.

 

*_*_*

Two weeks had passed since he'd stormed off of Rewara, and Jim had almost stopped flinching every time he received a hail from a passing starship, had almost stopped expecting to be recalled and demoted with every communiqué Uhura received.

Which made it a particularly nasty blow when Spock found him in his quarters, late into the second watch, with a message from Starfleet Command.

"Oh, hell" he sighed, throwing down his stylus and giving up on running the energy consumption ratios for the evening.

"Indeed, Captain, given your recent state of mind, one would think that you would wish the matter with the Rewarans to be concluded as quickly as possible."

"Fine, just give it to me straight." He leaned back in his chair, hands tangled up in his too-short, still regulation hair, willing the bullet to be a kill shot, willing the pain to be short.

"It simply states that the Admiralty, as represented by Admirals Bengaris, Pike, and Woozen, wish to commend you on your deep understanding and inspired handling of the Rewaran trade agreements."

Jim knew he was staring, slack jawed and dazed at Spock, but couldn't for the life of him think of anything better to say than, "What the fu-"

"Indeed," Spock interrupted. "It seems that the High Priestess spoke of you in the most positive terms to the negotiators, citing your conversation as the key factor in her decision to deal most generously with the Federation. And I quote, 'Captain Kirk reminded us that we are bound together, both in our joys and our loss, that we are stronger when we share in each, and that to deny our part in the rebuilding of the Fleet would be a failure to honor those that have gone before us.'"

"That's it? She didn't mention, er,"

"There was nothing else in the message we received. However," Spock raised an eyebrow slightly, "I have heard through unofficial channels that the Rewarans were most impressed by your unflinching use of honest emotion. Apparently in their culture, they feel that careful diplomacy leaves something to be desired, and found in you a person they could trust to honor and support the Rewaran culture in future political struggles."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Indeed not. Welcome to the world of politics."

"Hey, Spock," Jim called, forestalling his exit. "You up for a game of chess?"

"I would have thought you would grow tired of constantly losing to me. However, a relaxing game would help me wind down after the events of the day..."

"Hah! That's what you think. Sit your ass down, I've learned some new moves from Chekov."

"If you're referring to the variations on Saarvitz' second flanking strategy, I must caution you that it is both unreliable and somewhat illegal."

"You have no idea, my friend," Jim rubbed his hands eagerly, watching Spock set up the game. 

"Indeed, I look forward to finding out."

 

end


End file.
